The Rose and the Thorn
by EllieRose101
Summary: Invited to the all-new Watcher's Council's first annual Victorian-style ball, a happily married Buffy and Spike discuss the merits of dressing up and classic literature while she puts the finishing touches to her look.


**Author Note:** Someone with the username 'Yushiny' on Tumblr said, "Formal request that someone from the BtVS fandom write me a smutty and/or fluffy Spuffy AU in which Buffy dresses up as Lady Buffy (a la Halloween) so that Spike can read her poetry and then ravage her." So, here is my attempt at that.

* * *

The Rose and the Thorn

Buffy pouted as she looked herself over in the mirror.

Spike, who had been appraising her from behind, was incredulous when he finally caught her expression.

"There's no bleedin' way you could think you look bad, Slayer. I've seen you pull off demon guts, for fuck's sake."

Buffy turned around to face him, then, and he was awed all over again. The back of the grown was amazing, but when he considered her cleavage… Well, the phrase turned on didn't even begin to cover it. He was forcing himself not to drool. Forcing himself not to take her right there and then. _Wait. What were we talking about?_

"What's me pulling apart demons got to do with this?" she asked, drawing him out of his thoughts.

He had to unclench his teeth from around his bottom lip before answering, "Figure of speech. Meant you pulled off the look, even after you pulled off the literal limbs and whatnot. You always look glorious!"

"You think?" she asked, blushing, as she turned back to the mirror.

 _Think?! What a daft little bint. She'd have to be blind!_

"What's with the hesitation?" he asked. Sure, he knew she had insecurities as much as any girl, but there seemed to be something more going on in her head.

Buffy sighed before flopping down on the bed beside him, her long dress flapping at her ankles.

"It's just dressing up like this. Do you remember the last time I went all posh noble-woman-y? And again I mean literarily."

A mischievous grin spread across his handsome face.

"Yeah, pet, I remember. God, I had dreams about it for months! Pinning you down, all helpless, like. Havin' my way. Except that bit didn't actually happen, o'course."

Her blush had returned tenfold. "You dreamed about that?"

"Who in their right bloody mind wouldn't?" Spike exclaimed, making her expression suddenly change to one that looked – to the casual observer – very much like shame.

"Pet?"

"Angel," she said, bluntly, before being brave and forcing herself to meet his eyes. "He said he didn't like it."

"Bollocks," said Spike, forgiving her the fact that she'd broken the unwritten rule of mentioning ex-honeys in their shared bedroom. "You were a vision. He prolly just didn't like how it made him feel all outta control with lust."

Buffy shook her head, not so much in disagreement, but rather signaling the end of the conversation. These days she didn't want to talk about Angel any more than Spike did, and that was fine by him. No point rehashing old times, searching for hidden meaning and motives.

"I didn't like being out of control. Not being myself," said Buffy, changing tack. "Spells that make me not-me are no fun."

"Oh, I remember one that was fun," Spike crooned, remembering their short lived first engagement.

And Buffy was back to blushing again. It was a good thing Giles had been blind that day, for all the over-the-clothes grinding and groping there had been.

She stood up, trying to stick to the task in hand.

Taking this as a signal to behave, at least for now, Spike circled back to the main topic.

"As enchanting as the dress is, I'm sure it's not literal. Won't need to worry about being taken over by a spell tonight."

"Yeah, you're right," Buffy allowed. It really was a pretty dress. She liked it a lot, but she still didn't want to go to the party. Social gatherings had kind of lost their appeal, over the years. She'd much rather just stay in with Spike, these days. And, wow, wasn't that an epic turn around of the universe!

After twenty minutes of fiddling with her hair, Buffy stepped away from the mirror once more and regarded her husband.

He was still lying there, sprawled across the bed; half reading, half watching her. And for as much as he complimented her outfit, he was very much rocking his own complimentary attire.

"Damn you look good," she told him, as he smiled up at her. "Where did you even find such an authentic suit?"

"Giles knew a guy," he answered, before a thought occurred to him. "Maybe we should dress up more often."

Buffy laughed. "Yeah right. You can never get me out of clothes fast enough, Mr. Roleplay."

She was surprised to see a genuine blush cross his face.

"Wow, you're really getting into this prim and proper Victorian gig."

"You forget, luv, that's how I started out."

Buffy nodded, deciding not to press the topic. He didn't often like to talk about his first human life. It had been years before he'd confessed his upper class background, even to her.

"Read to me as I get ready?" she suggested.

"What more you gotta do?" asked Spike, equal parts thankful the conversation had moved on again, and completely baffled as to how someone so naturally beautiful could spend an hour in front of the mirror and apparently still have preparations to make.

"Make up, duh!" she replied.

Spike shook his head, knowing there was no point telling her she didn't need any.

Glancing back down at the book in his hands he began, "This is called The Rose and Thorn."

Even as he read the title his accent changed. Became more refined.

Buffy smiled to herself as she looked back to the mirror once more.

"The rose was the deepest red, without spot. And the thorn was an afterthought. In no one's focus."

He struggled over the word, "Inconvenient," for some reason.

"For a long time the Queen surveyed her garden and made it her mission to perfect it. She removed the thorns from all the other plants, leaving the rose 'till last," Spike continued, the words flowing out of his mouth like a song. The rhythm of them making a new kind of love to her.

"While she was tending to her patch, bathed in sunlight as it was, a shadow was cast. From nowhere, an oaf appeared, and he tried to grab at the roses. Tried to steal for himself their beauty."

Spike tried and failed to hide the anger in his voice, as he read that part. Quickly, though, it turned to... what was it, satisfaction?

"The thorn pierced the oaf, and the Queen drove it deeper. She tossed him from the garden, with a painful reminder never to return. And then she assessed the rose. It was unharmed, she found. The thorn had done its job in protecting it, and for the first time she appreciated its purpose. From then on, she only removed thorns that were in the way, or ones that had cut her. But the rose remained free to grow intact. The rose and the thorn were meant to go together, part of the same root, as they were."

Spike closed the book and looked up to find Buffy looking directly back at him.

"That was beautiful," she exclaimed.

Recently, she had restarted her college classes, but she didn't recognize the text from her classic lit. course.

"Wrote it about you," Spike admitted, before looking away. "Us."

"Oh!" Buffy's hand automatically went to her mouth in shock.

Trying to remain nonchalant, Spike then said, "Turns out I'm a bit better at prose than at poetry."

Buffy knocked the book out of his hand, forcing him to meet her eyes again.

It was his turn to be shocked, as she practically threw herself into his arms.

"Take me, William," she pleaded.

"But what about the party?" he asked.

"Ravish me," Buffy said more firmly.

Spike grinned, suddenly. Her dominance had a tendency to make his occasional shyness simply vanish.

"Yes, M'lady," he breathed, before burying his face in her corseted bosom.


End file.
